


thinks it needs you (not as much as I do)

by Anonymous



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, First posted work, Introspection, It's an equivalent of indie European movie, M/M, Pining, Pining!Eliot, Questionable interpunction, Some Swearing, Some mentions of depression, Some vague spoiler for Season 1, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eliot should have known that Quentin is Guide.Eliot's POV to oximore's fic "You’re crashing but you’re no wave".





	thinks it needs you (not as much as I do)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You’re crashing but you’re no wave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460823) by [oximore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oximore/pseuds/oximore). 



> I... really loved "You’re crashing but you’re no wave" and after I finished reading, my fingers just tingled and I sat down and wrote it in one night. Some dialogue is directly lifted from the oximore's fic, plot follows it pretty tightly.
> 
> I talked to oximore who was incredibly supportive and absolutely great and brave to give me permission. So... I hope I didn't butcher it up too much.
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's song, The Last Of The Real Ones.

Eliot kind of prided himself excellent Sentinel.

Drop the kind of. He was an excellent Sentinel. Probably why it was so goddamn humiliating to not notice Quentin was a Guide.

He tried, countless times to figure out how in the fuck’s name could he missed it but nine times out of ten, he ends up feeling sorry for himself and decides to drown his sorrows in alcohol.

It went like this. Eliot looked up and down at someone who definitely gave off enough of an ‘I’m miserable’ vibe to be a magician and - a quick glance at the card, oh, would you look at that, how cute - a name to go up to par with it. Nerd through and through, in desperate need of new clothes, Queer Eye style and maybe after that, someone potentially good-looking. Not too good-looking, but good-looking nevertheless.

Also, by Eliot’s own estimate, someone who had a fifty-fifty chance of staying.

When Fogg sent him to ‘get the late one’, he didn’t bother giving Eliot details or explaining whether Quentin Coldwater was a Sentinel or a Guide. It didn’t matter anyway, because a) magicians just generally didn’t pay as much attention to it, why would they, if they had literal magic? and b) because Eliot could sense it himself, thank you very much.

Except he didn’t.

The thought passed his mind, briefly. 

That Quentin had a nice face, kind eyes, even with his stuttering and tumbling, it was sincere. Eliot - briefly - thought it would be nice to have him as a Guide. Because… because he seemed like a person with a heart on his sleeve. Magic would no doubt start ravaging it until it crawled back to the place behind his ribs to lick its wounds. Once bitten, twice shy, after all. 

But sincerity was something Eliot could admire, crave even. 

His whole life, Guides tried to bond with him. Never for him actually, mind you. It was tiring, so tiring to see their fake smiles and struggle to pretend they liked him. They all just wanted power, their own brand of magic. The mixer parties were such a pain. Unfortunately for them, Eliot always knew his value, what he wanted from life or, more precisely, what he did not want and had the unstoppable, steely determination to force his own way so all their stupid courtship games were in vain.

So Eliot tested waters, trying to get a sense of Quentin. What he got was a big nothing and the tiny sting of disappointment. 

Still, Guide or not, Quentin could be fun. If he passed, Eliot was going to make him his pet project.

 

Yeah, so even Eliot can admit he got a lot of things backward that day.

 

Eliot quietly loves being around Quentin.

Quietly, in a hushed whisper in Margo’s ear when they are both drunk out of their heads, or in moments when Quentin smiles, in silences in between the laughter.

It just…

He is… Well, alright. Quentin comes with his own wide assortment of problems, truly, the Apple Store of problems, but he always puts them in the back if someone else needs help. Or, if Eliot needs someone to sit next to him and… just be there.

He isn’t an idiot. He recognizes this bullshit as him being back at it with Sentinel thing, but…

But why the fuck would it matter?

If Quentin is here if he is okay with Eliot having his head on his lap while he is reading, a soft smile on his face, occasional gasps when something happens in his story. If he sometimes even pets Eliot’s scalp and it is so goddamn embarrassing that all Eliot wants in those moments is to beg Quentin not to go because the texture of his palm is oh so very nice. If it makes Eliot feel… feel so much better… So what? So what?

Not everything is about Sentinel and Guides and bonding and…

 

“Did you hear the craziest thing?” Jenna or Miranda or whoever asks. “About that little nerd and hottie from the first year?”

“That they’re banging or that she’s a daughter of…”

“No, no! About the other nerd. The one with problems.”

“Honey, you really need to be more specific.”

“Uh, whatever. The nerd came online as a Guide. And the hottie is a Sentinel.”

“Oh, right! Carmen and Penny!”

“Quentin you idiot. Quentin and Penny. Apparently, they dragged each other online.”

The world around Eliot slows down. 

 

...and he should have known. He should have fucking known.

 

What use, thinks Eliot, is being a Sentinel if you can’t even tell that cute boy you may have the tiniest crush on is a Guide? 

Seriously, what kind of idiots work at the Center to let Eliot believe he’s this extremely rare, incredibly talented Sentinel if he can’t tell that Quentin Coldwater, the very same Quentin he’s around almost every day and the same Quentin that may or may not have starred in some of Eliot’s dumbest fantasies - the dumbest ones, not even the ones where Quentin just blows him, no, that would be easy - is a Guide?

No use at fucking all and also, idiots of unparalleled caliber.

Beneath all the self-abasement he’s…

Alright, one, two, three, go.

He’s glad.

He waited his whole life to find the Guide who will just get him, who will click and now he has Quentin who is oh so very clickable. 

Eliot had a lifetime of wondering about deserving things, right partners, connections bonding and to be honest, he...

 

“I don’t get it,” he moans.

“Mhmm,” Margo answers.

“I don’t get how it is Penny. Penny hates Quentin. There’s no way he can appreciate him.”

“Mhm,” Margo agrees.

She is clearly flying somewhere else, maybe even Fillory so Eliot shuts up but he’s still unhappy.

Why couldn’t Eliot be the one to wake Quentin?

Hm?

Why isn’t Eliot enough? 

Why the fuck couldn’t it be Eliot?

And now, Penny and Quentin will bond and Eliot will have to watch how it goes down spectacularly because Quentin needs someone who will love and cater for him, not Penny who is too rough who probably can get by himself, not like Eliot, who...

Does Penny even need Quentin? 

Penny is an asshole. 

Okay, not fair, they all are assholes but come on.

Eliot presses his hands to his eyes. This is such a bitch of the situation.

 

So, Margo is onto him.

It’s not like it’s fucking secret. Eliot is not subtle. He’s pining. He’s jealous. 

But whatever.

Quentin is still here, he still goes about as if nothing has changed and…

Quentin is even less subtle than Eliot. Well, not exactly. Quentin just doesn’t think he should be hiding things other people do - like his love for Fillory or the overwhelming need for friends or just plain happiness or wonder or amazement. Maybe he doesn’t feel like he needs to hide it, Eliot doesn’t know. The point he is trying to make is that it's plain to see Quentin is not okay with being a Guide. Well. When you know he’s one.

The shields that are barely there could be a clue. The tense shoulders. That little twitch, blink and you miss it his mouth does when nobody but Eliot is paying attention. Eliot would feel bad about it but it's really mostly Quentin's fault for being pretty, alright? His and his stupid mouth.

Quentin told them he doesn't care if he's good at being Guide and in fact, that he's so weak he never was even considered one. 

He looks guilty as he says it.

But you know, Quentin also said he doesn't care if he's good magician, that just being one is enough, and look at him, sacrificing all these hours and trying to befriend the bookish crammer Alice Queen to help him learn. Hours he could put too much better use, in Eliot's humble opinion.

Quentin is complicated and complex in a way that Eliot isn't sure he can tackle.

He wants to, though, and that itself is a red flag.

So that all leaves Eliot fucked in the head because from one side, Quentin probably won’t bond with Penny, right? Not if he acts so reluctant about the whole ordeal.

On the other…

If Quentin doesn’t want someone he’s crazy compatible with what about someone he has no connection with whatsoever? 

This is ridiculous. Eliot usually just goes in and gets what he wants. And if he can’t, he goes somewhere else. Or, you know. He takes. Sometimes. He’s not proud of it. 

Anyway, he has standards, pretty high if he says so himself but Quentin takes it to another level. 

The worst, absolutely the shittiest part of all of this mess is that Eliot would probably want Quentin either way. Guide or not. 

The disarming eagerness, the obvious concern, the carefree love, like it’s saying come and hurt me, I’d die for you. Also, sometimes Quentin ties his hair and that’s so completely unfair that Eliot wants to choke him to death but that’s the wrong route because the thought of touching Quentin’s neck is so utterly, ridiculously erotic Eliot doesn't know what to do with himself.

Touching his neck.

That’s how deep he is.

But touching his neck could turn into gripping his neck, just below the ear and leaning in and kissing and.

Eliot is about facades. He’s about a cultivated image. He likes himself like that but it’s still an image. He is himself, he is. But being self-aware and happy don’t always mix. So it’s chose which one you want, right? But there's a difference between want-have and want-need. If you show that you want something, that you care, you lose. That's why Quentin is kind of revolutionary.

And that's why being with Quentin is freeing. Quentin, somehow, makes Eliot think that he doesn’t have to choose or alter himself. That Quentin can… accept him. 

But, Quentin and Penny have their whatever and Eliot is many things but not a homewrecker. Usually. He made that mistake once, twice, who is counting, really? and he won't repeat it.

Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish he could deck Penny. 

Sue him, Kady is terrifying and no matter what is going on between all of them, Eliot won’t risk it.

 

“I heard they are having like, a four-way,” someone on the party narrates. He is way too enthusiastic. "Like a big pile of people doing it.”

“And I heard that if you keep spreading shit like that, the ghost that hounds third floor will come and castrate you,” Margo says immediately after a quick glance at Eliot's face. He's drunk and his reflexes are sluggish. That and Margo knows every bit of him.

“But you live on the third floor,” guy answers, clearly confused.

“What a coincidence, would you look at that.”

“Margo,” Eliot supplies but the guy is long gone. Not without the reason but still. Tell him more about foursomes. He's dying to know. “You don’t have to. If…”

“There’s no if, you dummy. This is bullshit. And you would know. If you just talked to him.”

“That’s a no from me.” Eliot returns to his drink but Margo snatches it from his hand. 

“I won’t watch you zone out again,” she warns. “Look, it doesn’t have to be Quentin. Actually, maybe it would be even better if it wasn’t.”

Eliot, actually, would love to find himself a Guide.

Really.

No smoke and screen.

It was a cliche but look.

Look.

Being a Sentinel is hard. It takes more than it gives, really. And, maybe, deep down, Eliot would just like someone to love him.

Or that’s his alcoholic persona taking the wheel. That sentimental bitch.

“He has his thing with Penny,” he murmurs. “And with Alice, whatever that is. Haven't you heard five’s the crowd?”

“Only if you're coward,” Margo decides. But then she sits down next to him and hugs him. “It just sucks to see you like that. And you're a catch. He's an idiot to not see it.”

That's true.

But it's also true that Eliot's an idiot. They all are, which isn't much of reassurance. They're just riding in this stupid clown car, wearing their stupid clown clothes, honking their noses and hoping for the best.

The jury is still out on how it's working out.

 

The worst part of being gay in magic school is hand kink. Mix it with heightened, juiced up Sentinel senses and you have a pretty accurate picture of Eliot helping Quentin with spells and almost getting boner. 

Quentin sometimes does card tricks, without any magic whatsoever, just his fingers.

Eliot really hates him for that.

 

Eliot starts to hate a lot of things recently. 

Quentin is of course on top, followed by Penny, Alice and now, a fucking depression. Not his, he is fucked up but this monster somehow missed him. It didn't miss Quentin, though. 

It's no wonder, really. If Quentin was allowed to be sunny and optimistic and lovely all the time and not just on rare occasions, once in a blue moon, everyone would be as miserable as Eliot, catching feelings left and right.

“I'm going to drag him here, whether he likes it or not,” he tells Margo. “I don't know how other Sentinels in the house are handling it.”

“Maybe other Sentinels aren't thirsty dumbasses,” suggests Margo and turns the page of her magazine. 

“But are they half as handsome as me?”

“Let's ask Quentin, shall we?”

Low blow.

Eliot wants to tell her as much but another wave of misery almost shakes him to the bones.

He gets up.

Fine.

If Penny, crazy compatible Penny is going to be a heartless douchebag, Eliot will take care of it. There's no ulterior motive, he swears. 

He's doing everyone a favor by tending to Quentin. There’s nothing in it for him. Just his usual selfless self.

“Remember about condoms and close the door,” says Margo as a farewell. Eliot just holds his chin up, straightens his shirt and goes.

 

This is the day he discovers that vulnerable Quentin Coldwater stretches his arms like a little koala bear, blinks slowly, his eyelashes fluttering and he clings to Eliot like all of this matters something it absolutely cannot.

He also smiles, grateful and embarrassed, and really.

He could save himself the trouble and just rip Eliot's heart out and stomp on it. 

 

He finally manages to talk to Penny when they both stand outside the house, Eliot taking a cigarette break because it's not their house but Allie's, the self-proclaimed head of it. There are urban legends about magicians who were stupid enough to take an issue with her about it. Weird flex but ok, as the ancient proverb dictates.

Eliot doesn't mind.

And the cigarette may also be enchanted, making Eliot’s head a tad bit funnier place than usual.

The parties are usually funI their own, lots of colorful drinks, pretty spells with lights, confetti and glitter, and music that doesn't make you want to kill yourself.

Penny is there too, but he looks like he's waiting for someone, not smoking.

Eliot is relatively sober, tipsy if he were to judge so he decides to, you know, just chat. 

Like one Sentinel to another.

“So little bird or a flock of them, really, told me you're a new hot thing around here,” he starts casually. “Sentinel and Guide bringing each other online? True love story, and it doesn't even have vampires in it.”

Penny cranes his neck in Eliot's direction and his visible displeasure oozes from him.

“You.”

Can you feel the resentment tonight?

Eliot is a little taken aback but now he has a chance of seeing himself what exactly Penny has that he lacks that Quentin sees in him and he's not leaving until then, even if looking at Penny’s clothes kind of hurts.

“Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it,” Penny adds. Eliot raises one brow - that’s ultimate power move, he would know - but before he can ask, Penny frowns. 

“I’m…” He gestures around his head, which, what’s up with that? “Nevermind, just.” He huffs.“Just. Do man the fuck up and talk to Quentin.” It clearly pains him to even be in Eliot’s company which is really rude. “Talk to him and don’t stop until you sort it out and I can stop getting your stupid waterfalls of emotions.”

“What Quentin has to do with this?” Eliot asks, struggling to be casual. It’s not like he would kill Penny but strange things happen on the campus. Fountains swallow students, mysterious object fall from the sky, drinks have a little extra in them.

Penny is looking at Eliot with one of the best ‘what the fuck, dude?’ faces Eliot seen in a while. Really, it’s almost impressive.

Eliot wonders if Quentin is into that. He doesn’t seem so but hey.

He is a Guide. And Eliot missed that one too.

“This,” Penny interrupts him. “This is what Quentin has to do with it. Take him away from me, you’d do us all a favor.”

And he has the audacity to fucking disappear. 

He appears sometime later, sloshed like a motherfucker, screaming about Taylor Swift and trying to get everyone to sing one of her songs. Eliot watches him and wonders whether Quentin is actual living proof of moronosexuality to find that appealing.

Fuck, Eliot hopes he is.

 

“Are you going to bond with him?” 

He maybe shouldn’t open with that but if Quentin is then rest of the conversation is pointless. Eliot doesn't want to be a homewrecker, he slept with other people’s boyfriends, yes, he never, ever thinks about it, he already went through it.

“What?” Quentin repeats, blinking. 

Damn it. Eliot thought it would be easy - as in, easy to get the information, not the… not whatever comes next. He didn’t account for Quentin’s obviousness. His face is like an open book, yes, but until you hit the right button, it’s stuck on his default. 

Before Eliot decides how to proceed, Quentin apparently catches up.

“What the fuck, Eliot?”

And he fucked up.

Big surprise. Still, inconclusive. Quentin’s annoyance, blinker turned on, about to ride into anger is also very easy to read.

“That’s ridiculous and you know that.”

Does he now?

“Do I?” Eliot asks because what the fuck. Ridiculous? “You’re a perfect fit after all, are you not? Is it not what they’re calling it?” Shit. “He can feel you almost at all time if he tries, too, from anywhere, you already shared the same mind space and both of your minds are attuned to each other when most Sentinels on campus can’t even” oh no, no, no, what is Eliot doing, what the fuck, he’s drunker than he thought, he’s about to show, Quentin's about to know and he’ll hate Eliot and this thing will blow in their faces, so badly, truly, the Hiroshima and Nagasaki because Eliot is “fucking tell you’re a Guide most of the time. I” and here Eliot goes, me, me, me, he’s selfish motherfucker who never can take no for the answer and he takes and takes and what the fuck “couldn’t, not really, before he brought you fully online.”

“Is it about me not telling you I was a Guide?”

...maybe.

Listen, Eliot has a pride. And that? That was demeaning. 

There is also a question of why didn't Quentin tell him. Maybe he didn't trust Eliot. 

Yes, Eliot might have kissed and told a couple of times… Oh, bad, bad comparison but once it’s out, Eliot just would like to note that Quentin’s mouth is ridiculous.

The corners of his mouth curl, just a little and Eliot can’t…

“No,” Eliot says, because he has to say something and he kind of lost the thread of conversation. He just… “This is not what it is about. Let’s call it,” - Eliot, being absolute worst garbage that there is - “inappropriate curiosity.”

Well. That sounds...

“I thought you would be the last person to ask something like this, with all your stories about the Center’s dreadfully boring mixer parties and all that. You know that doesn’t work.”

Yeah… good old bitterness got him here and older and better nonchalance will get him out. Eliot just has to pretend for a second and all will be fine. 

“Forced bonding doesn’t work. But with off charts compatibility now that’s a different story.”

That’s the real bitch in all of this. Eliot’s fucking jealousy, fact that Penny has it and he’s ready to throw to away because what? Quentin’s not good enough for him? Or maybe Penny is just as much of asshole as Eliot always suspected, just using Quentin but not bonding. Keeping him at hand’s distance and leash at the same time.

“...we wouldn’t bind ourselves to each other like that. So sure, my fucked up guide brain and his messed up psychic traveler whatever sentinel are compatible, that’s great, but that doesn’t mean we want to get bonded Eliot!”

Abort mission. He is not equipped to do any of this, he’s not… He’s as broken as Quentin, who knows, maybe even more, probably. 

He’s also uglier than Quentin.

Darker.

He doesn’t handle rejection very well, that’s why he’s usually one to reject. And don't get him started on his relationship history.

None of this matters now.

“Well excuse me for assuming considering the amount of time the two of you have been spending together, both in and out of the clinic,” he snarls, bitter and angry. Yes. He's been counting.

What about the magic he learned Quentin to do? He was the one to cuddle him and take care of him when he was down. Penny looks at Kady like he loves her while Quentin gets what? Pat on the back when he helps to get out of the zone? Is that it?

How anyone can be such an ungrateful fuck?

“Because we’re trying to train ourselves not because we’re planning a bonding! And yes we’re compatible we work well together - I can get him out of a zone and he gets me back to reality when I lose myself –” Which, excuse him, Eliot could do just as well. “still just two fucked up magicians trying to make the best of this mess. Sorry if not all of us can deal with it as well as you do okay!” Eliot almost laughs at that. Almost, because he’s mostly busy with processing all of the other things Quentin is throwing at him. “And since we’re on the subject I don’t even think they would condone us bonding frankly, with me being a faulty unstable guide and his emphasis being so dangerous… ”

“That's bullshit.” He wonders if he should, you know. Spice the scene a little. Throw the glass in the ground, grip Quentin’s by his shirt and shake him until all of those stupid meaningless, so blatantly untrue words just fucking disappear because what. is Quentin. even talking. about. “You think most of us don’t medicate one way or another here too? You’re not faulty Q.”

He’s not allowed to say that if Quentin is faulty, then, Eliot probably is too.

That being talented Guide is not always equal with being a good one and he, personally, believes that the best Guides are just people who are like Quentin and he would know, having met so many of them.

He wants to tell him that

“I have chronic clinical depression, Eliot.”

doesn’t matter.

Still, he tries, “It doesn’t mean you’re defective!” but it doesn’t seem to convince Quentin. He shouldn’t shout. He shouldn’t have drunk. He...

Wishes it didn't go the way it did.

 

Quentin is angry at him.

He probably won’t bond Penny but it’s like a shitty consolation prize.

You know you blew up badly enough to not get a real one.

 

Quentin hates Eliot and honestly, someone should finally found the club. Eliot could be vice-president, his dad taking the honor of being the leading man.

Eliot, of course, deals with it the best way he knows which is self-destructing. He’s actually genuinely good at that, which is so ironic but makes so much sense. Eliot had to fold himself inside out to be able to hate himself remotely less and even that worked only with alcohol and cigarettes. 

He’s not alright but whatever. He will be.

He will pull himself out of this fucking Mariana’s Trench of bullshit like he always does. But before that, he needs stupid decisions.

So, of course, he zones out, anchoring himself to Quentin, even if Quentin hates him, wants to do nothing with him and…

He loses the track of the thought, swimming in nothingness and Enya’s songs.

 

Turns out Eliot underestimated himself. Even he is surprised.

Margo not so much. He would rather describe her reaction as furious, ready to kill, mad but hey. It is impressive that he got himself back to Earth. It is. Whatever Margo’s thinking. 

He knows she talked to Quentin but there are some rules that friendship like theirs doesn’t allow to break.

“He’s dumb,” Margo tells him. “And he definitely doesn’t hate you. Who could, really. I don’t befriend losers.”

“Quentin and his merry bunch are kind of losers,” he tells her, apologetic.

“They’re work in progress.”

Eliot wonders why the world’s such a bitch. Why Margo couldn’t be a Guide? It would solve all of their problems. Most of them. The ones connected with Sentinel bullshit. Alright, in a grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t do all that much. 

Eliot’s life would be easier, though.

And apparently, they can’t have even that bare minimum. 

Which means it’s time for distraction.

 

Then, all shits break down loose, Eliot gets fucked so hard he’s almost surprised. Life is a lover who doesn’t get the concept of safeword and once it has you underneath, you ain't getting over it.

It is all very metaphorical and shit. Sure as fuck sounds nicer than ‘on a search for distraction slash salvation slash just good lay Eliot finds himself a possessed demon’.

It really stings.

Like a motherfucker.

 

So boo hoo, he starts to zone out more and more.

It is kind of nice, once you figure out that when you’re deep enough, it’s nothing. 

He’s nothing, his problems are nothing, nothing there, nothing here, nothing every-fucking-where. It’s nice, really.

Being violently woken up by Margo who at this point was just punching him, not slapping is not as nice. He gets it’s escapism, he gets it’s dangerous but he has it under control.

However, he… gets smart about it, now.

He zones out at nights when he’s supposed to be sleeping and never as deep as that one time. 

Eliot is a goddamn wreck, Titanic-sized but he won’t leave his Bambi like that.

 

...unless he completely loses control and that slippery line keeping him afloat just escapes through his fingers.

That was not intentional.

 

He really thinks this is over.

Like, ‘if Sentinel is too deep it is better to kill him, that’s mercy’ kind of over.

He’s been drifting in some direction, it’s hard to say, probably northern east but generally, away from his sanity. It’s difficult to care, though. When you’re eternal, becoming nothing with darkness, looking at the abyss and…

And fuck him.

Someone is holding his hand.

He’s not sure how he’s feeling it and it’s too wrapped up in spiders webs and wool and he’s not sure what he’s talking about but something is there. There is there. The world is not just black and nothing. There’s even… If he focuses. There’s murmur. A shift in the air. The atoms are tingling, the universe recalibrating itself through the needle's eye.

It’s a long time coming back.

He thinks.

Eliot went pretty fucking further and beyond. But there is a sensation, back and forth, kind of swaying? on his palm. It’s nice to know he still has one of those. Because… Because…

He slips again.

It’s kind of like swimming but he doesn't have to worry about looking at other boys like when he was younger or how other people, in general, will perceive him. He’s not even actually drowning. But every time he breaches the surface he is closer.

And it’s funny. Eliot thought he was deep but deep more like far away. Not actually deep. Horizontal, not vertical. It doesn't make any sense and it would be so nice to, he doesn’t know, get some sort of…

“...utterly useless…”

Eliot knows this voice.

Eliot knows the owner of this voice.

Eliot knows that the only person who is literally saving his life right fucking now would still find time to belittle himself.

Is.

Quentin.

Quentin came for him.

But if… if Eliot doesn’t give him a sign, he will fucking leave and Margo - Margo! Margo! Margo, Margo, Margo - they will call the clinic and Quentin will fucking leave because he doesn’t believe he’s any good and that’s bullshit and Eliot has to do something to keep him exactly where he is.

So he squeezes his hand.

It feels like a clamp. Like he’s crushing Quentin’s fingers and that’s not good but the murmur, the vibration in air becomes tad clearer. All of a sudden his skin is sand not steel, Quentin’s finger just sifting through it. It doesn’t hurt, really.

Since the sound is returning, there’s no cotton in his ears he tries again. Quentin needs real proof that he’s needed right the fuck here. 

Eliot can make an effort for him.

He braces himself and on top of his lungs he screams,

“Q”.

 

It takes long as fuck. Eliot went partially deaf - he’s not about to tell Quentin that - with his stupid screaming. The bright side is, he now knows what busting eardrums feel like. Or, his brain is convinced it does. He's sure on a physical level, he's fine. But that's how pain works, right? Pain is just your brain signaling that you're an idiot and this needs to stop.

Here Eliot thought they had a mutual agreement.

Anyway, once he’s, kind of, sort of not so fucked and can do a little more than fool of himself, Quentin has the sheer nerve to suggest getting actual Guide - as if he didn't just bring Eliot back - who knows what he’s doing - yeah, right - and may be better choice for Eliot.

Eliot would like to punch Quentin but his arms are too heavy for once and second, Quentin is still gripping one of them.

 

Our Lady Luck has looked down on Eliot and she wept and so, she gave him an opportunity not only to evade Margo and her wrath of gods but also to hug Quentin and tug him into bed and pretend that he actually cared about Eliot enough to bring himself into exhaustion. 

Eliot knows the truth.

It’s pity or it’s the threat of Margo, or it’s just Quentin being a good person.

It’s not personal.

It means nothing.

Doesn’t mean that Eliot won’t kiss his knight in shining armor on the head and thank him. He knows he's putting himself in deep shit but whatever.

His senses are still high-strung, wrung out.

It feels like ‘all he ever wanted’ and ‘how do I go on without it?’.

His brain is signaling like crazy.

 

Unsurprisingly, Quentin starts to avoid him. Or gets back to avoiding him.

With Margo, Eliot is not so lucky and remember that clever remark about bursting eardrums? Yeah. Eliot isn’t so clever right now. 

He apologizes, buys expensive alcohol and silky scarf. He grovels, kisses boots and even bakes her a cake.

Margo, of course, forgives him but he can feel her hugs are stronger now. Longer. Holding him. It is cute and also unnecessary. Eliot wouldn’t do that again.

“I don’t fucking believe you,” is all that Margo has to say about the situation. Which. Yeah. Valid.

So it is… good.

Yes.

Accounting that apparently, Quentin doesn’t hate him for the bonding conversation. But he definitely hates him now. 

Well.

You can’t have everything.

 

When Quentin finally shows up, he reeks of Penny.

Eliot considers throwing him into the lake but passive-aggressive remarks are more his style.

“You were with Penny.” See, it’s not exactly about what you say and more about delivery. Eliot’s born actor, so it works like gold. Quentin tugs the sleeves of his horrible, horrible sweater and then he does his thing, with the hair and some of his scent lingers in the air.

“Uh… is it ok to be both impressed and low-key freaked out that you can smell him on me?”

Sincere.

As always.

Also, Eliot is a creep.

“Sorry. Most of the times I try not to think about all the thing I can smell.” And, my God, does he. 

No, he won’t elaborate.

“I can take a shower?” Quentin tries, ready to please and charm, as always. But it’s not fair to ask him that, even if Eliot would like to bath him in something else. Maybe some of Eliot’s private collection of cologne. So every other Sentinel - ekhmPennyekhm - knew that Quentin is taken. Which great plan, save for one detail - Quentin doing whatever equivalent Quentin has for hatred and it being directed at Eliot.

But great idea nevertheless, he needs to jot that down. 

“It’s fine, Q,” he assures him. “What you need isn’t a shower, no, what you need right now is food.”

It's literally a crime, how easy it is. Give them food. Let them scream at you. Make kissy faces and half-assed apologies. Sincerity is up to you. Hook, line, and sinker. Serve with caution.

Quentin is a bigger person than Eliot and he sits down, puts his bag down and waits until Eliot makes him food. He clearly wants to forgive him, wouldn't be here if he didn't. Well. Eliot lives to please. Himself, in most cases but here whatever he wants and what he hopes Quentin wants overlap. 

Eliot doesn’t exactly trust himself, so he makes pasta. It’s fucking cliche but Quentin smiles and tugs his hair behind his ear and if Eliot focuses and closes his eyes for a second, he can imagine himself doing that.

So it’s not that terrible.

A brave soul could even call it a success.

 

It takes a lot but Eliot decides this on his own.

No pressure from Margo, no guilt - he is forgiven whatever trespass he might have done and yeah. It might be taking advantage but Quentin smiled at him, alright. That… makes things hard to deny.

But he needs to address the situation. It’s this or a long way down into the darkness. 

He’s not doing that again.

“So we should talk,” he starts. Should. Not want or would love to. He knows what he’s about. It’s almost like performance and he can do those.

Quentin looks at him. Shit.

He’s not selling it.

“Anyway, I intended to do it my usual way,” he picks up, scrambling. “Get royally drunk, puke all of my feelings at you, drink some more, forget about it in the morning.” He takes a deep breath and Quentin’s fucking hand rises. He seems to catch himself, or they both do. Quentin tries to play it as tugging his hair but he already did that, so he just pats himself in the face. 

And to think that Eliot had standards once.

“Sorry,” Quentin whispers. "You don’t have to look at me like that.”

He’s both right and wrong but Eliot lets it slip. He has more important things to take care of.

“So,” he tries again. Quentin’s eyes are drilling into him. Skittish. Just what does he think Eliot is going to say to him? “It’s a thank you. Official one.” As opposed to the, you know, stolen one. “I could have not come back and the world would be so much poorer because of that. So kudos to you, I guess.”

“I wanted to do better,” Quentin says. He immediately grips the edge of his seat. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I told Margo that we should get a real Guide but she wouldn’t listen. I… We can fix. Whatever that is.”

“What in the fuck’s name are you going on about?” Eliot asks but, yeah. Too late. Quentin is panicking.

“That’s what you want to talk about, right? That I screwed up somehow. Penny was… And I just think. But if we…”

“Quentin,” Eliot says and puts his hands on Quentin’s shoulders. The strands of Quentin's hair are brushing against his palm. It’s weirdly erotic, almost like everything Quentin does. He got used to it. “I’m alright. Were you listening to me at all? I was thanking you.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m not so good…”

Here they go again. It’s like a roller coaster, stuck on the loop, can't get out.

“I anchored myself to you,” Eliot interrupts him. Quentin gulps. His mouth drops a little. He blinks. Distracting. Distracting, distracting. “You did everything right. I couldn’t ask for better.”

Somehow, this is the wrong thing to say.

“It can’t be right,” Quentin argues, his lips wobbling. Like a little child. Eliot hopes he won’t start crying because none of them is getting out alive. “I’m… I’m… you should have had better. But I had to try,” he says like he's arguing and making an excuse and this time, his hands wander straight to Eliot’s cheek. Eliot’s brain proceeds to short circuit. “It’s selfish of me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand it. That you were alone and lost and there was nobody to take care of you.” 

“And here I am,” Eliot says, blood drumming in his ears. “All fine and taken care of. Which you knew. So why panic?”

Quentin's hand drops and he starts to fidget.

Oh?

“I think I know,” Eliot says benevolently. “Because what's the alternative? If you didn't fuck it up, you succeeded and so you have to take responsibility.”

Quentin is spooked, he searches something in Eliot's face but Eliot’s whole attention is split between his cheek, his palms, and his lips where he can fucking feel light, the slightest movement of air from Quentin’s breathing. 

“So what I was trying to say.” Quentin gulps. “We worked. Right? We did. I didn't imagine it. You… you said so. I know you're billion light years above my league. I know. I know. I was just. Thinking. That it wasn’t one-off. Maybe? That we could… Eliot, please, I can’t do it alone, you have to…”

 

And then Eliot kissed that fool all the way to his bed and gripped his neck and kissed him, kissed him and his lips were tingling, Quentin’s hair getting in the way but you know? 

Quentin was kissing him right back.

And later, much, much later, Quentin might have just hold Eliot, his arms embracing him tightly and he could whisper something in Eliot’s hair, barely audible, more of movement than actual words.

Thankfully, Eliot was excellent Sentinel with equally excellent Guide, so he heard that all right.

**Author's Note:**

> This is first fic that I have ever posted and for I am just a delicate flower with no self-esteem if somebody says mean things to me, I will undoubtedly cry so don't test me and please, please be nice.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
